I'd Go With You
by Mundane Matthew
Summary: Just because you're born seeing death doesn't make it any easier to watch someone burn bright and fade away.


"Where do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Disneyworld."

"What?!"

"Haha, why not?"

"We're supposed to be thinking about succeeding L. This is serious!"

"I _am_ serious. We're only kids, A."

"... I guess so.. so what ride would you go on first?"

"Easy! It'd be-"

The rain pelting hard on his umbrella roused the youth out of his moment in memory. He looked around himself, at the empty hills that rolled into the distance until he could no longer see. Cemented pathways weaved around the place so cars could pass by. Still, with the paths in front of himself, he chose to stand in the soggy wet grass.

He was sure _he_ would have expected it. After all, _he_ knew everything about him. Every secret, every dusty skeleton in the closet. And after every confession _he_ smiled and _he_ comforted him. Told him it was okay. That he still loved and cared about him.

The next water came in streams down his face, warm tears from the well in his eyes. He clenched his fist, crushing the letter he always rewrote and never read. He stashed it in his pocket and wiped at his face with the wet sleeve of his jacket. He hated the rain.

"If you're going to cry, cry! It's stupid to hide it. Especially from me."

".. I should be able to handle this by now. I'm just being stupid."

"You're _never_ stupid, A."

"I don't understand why it's so hard all of a sudden.. I feel.. I feel.. B, I-I.. I don't feel _anything_."

His hands shook at his sides, clenched tight in fists. He wanted to be angry, but it'd only be at himself. He had tried not to blame himself. He'd promised he wouldn't. Lately it felt like he couldn't keep that promise anymore.

What could he have done differently? What action of lack of action could he have changed? Would it have done anything? Would it have saved.. Would _A_ still be here? Would he still be able to look in the mirror and see a good person? Would his room be less quiet with just another body in there?

Of course he knew nothing would be different. No matter how many times he went over it, B knew. He'd known since the day they met.

Maybe knowing was why it hurt so bad.

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're A."

"But who was I before that? Who will I be in the future?"

"I.. still A.."

"Who is A? Is he the perfect scores on all these papers? What does he like? Who does he love? What's he afraid of? **I can't do this anymore!** "

"A..."

"I just want to be a person again, Beyond.. I just want.. I want to hold your hand and go out to a movie. I want to ride a bike and crash it, get a few stitches and a milkshake to feel better. I don't just want things to be okay for me.. I want them to be okay for you. For all of us.. It's not fair.. We're just kids! You always told me that! We're kids! This isn't right! You can't treat children like this! I don't want to be a letter anymore!"

The knees of his jeans soaked the instant he hit the ground. On all fours he bowed his head, umbrella tossing in the wind unimportant. His thick dark brown hair stuck to his skin, cold. He looked up wearily and reached out a hand to touch the headstone.

If he could go back. If he could just relive everything again. He'd take it all. The violent death of his parents, the loss of his aunt, being orphaned and alone, going to Wammy's, meeting A..

Every moment with A he would relive a hundred times. Every moment with him was worth reliving the few shadows of his past. If he had the chance to start it all over, he would pay more attention. He would keep _him_ safe. He'd make sure they stayed together. Happy. No one would break him. That fucking house wouldn't break him. He would sit up there on the roof every night, always ready to catch an outstretched arm. He would stop it.. he would..

He couldn't.

In the end, he couldn't do anything but sit in their empty room and let his memory try to comfort him. It never really worked. Eventually the wrinkles in the sheets were straightened and the smell of vanilla and mint faded. Eventually it really was just him. A was gone.

He wept against the stone, scraping his cheek against it. He curled around it, clutching it, clinging to it like he would a loved one. In a way, he supposed, he actually was. He cried loud, unafraid and unashamed, drowned out only by the rumbling thunder in the clouds overhead.

After some time had passed in silence only broken by gut wrenching heaves and choking sobs, B sat up, resting on his knees in front of the tombstone.

He pulled the crumpled up ball of paper from his pocket and unfurled it, smoothing it out as best he could.

His hands trembled and he couldn't see the ink on the paper through his tears. But he didn't need to see it. He knew what was written. It was engraved in his mind, in his soul even.

He wiped his face on his sleeve, trying to focus his blurred vision enough to see the engravement. The beautiful Olde English 'A' carved delicately into marble.

B reached out and touched it, shivering from the coldness. Or maybe it was something else.

He took in a shaking breath and read the letter.

"Why couldn't you take me with you?"


End file.
